The Solid Line
by lanri
Summary: Unseen 'verse. Agent Henricksen has seen some wild things in his career. But this might take the cake. Nightshifter & Jus In Bello


**The Solid Line**

* * *

Suggested _ages_ ago by **CommChatter**: so sorry it took me so long!

Lines up with both Jus in Bello and the earlier Nightshifter. In case you haven't read the others, one main difference in this AU is that they did not kill the YED in the graveyard. Oh and Sam's blind.

* * *

Henricksen had never been put on a stranger case. Psychopath and a blind brother? Shouldn't be too hard to catch, right? Right.

Henricksen scrubbed his eyes one more time, just in case he could squeeze one more ounce of tiredness out of himself. Yeah, no. Not this time.

"Any change?" he asked an officer.

"No, sir."

Henricksen mentally flipped through the pages of Dean's file again. There had been some accounts of larceny and credit fraud, but nothing like a bank robbery.

The brother was key, Henricksen had decided. There was no way that the brother was in there, so he had agents scouring nearby motels in hopes of gaining some leverage of their own.

Slamming one of the car doors, Henricksen headed to the front of the line again, glancing back at the crowd forming.

He froze. It wasn't possible.

"Sam Winchester!" he shouted. His men immediately turned to find out what Henricksen was looking towards.

Sam began moving away, white cane tapping at the ground hurriedly, only to be nabbed by a couple cops.

"Sam Winchester. It is a pleasure," Henricksen said with a smile.

"Who're you?"

"I'm the one who's gonna find your brother a nice jail cell. No one can blame you for this, y'know. We all know that he's been dragging you around, forcing you to live this way."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Sam snarled. He looked so young and innocent.

"Two ways for it, Sam. You either help us, or you help him," Henricksen said.

"I'd rather die before helping you," Sam shot back.

Thankfully, Henricksen didn't really need Sam's compliance. He cuffed Sam and shoved him into a police car.

"Well, no need to put this off," Henricksen said. Things were looking up, now. He called the bank's phone.

"Dean."

"What is it?" the older brother snapped. Sounded stressed.

"I believe you'll be interested to know that we have a certain younger brother of yours in custody."

"Don't you hurt him," Dean demanded.

"Well, you know how it is, Dean. Things get a little violent when a kid like Sam resists arrest."

Henricksen heard a snarl on the other end of the line and smiled. "Give it up, Dean. We have your brother. Come out and let the hostages go."

"Prove it. Let me hear him," Dean demanded.

He smirked and turned to the car, only to find that it was empty.

"Wha—"

"You don't have him, do you? Nice try," Dean said coldly. "Back off before more people get hurt."

Henricksen swore after hanging up. Apparently he had underestimated Sam Winchester.

Next time, he would not make that mistake.

* * *

He had never considered himself the type to gloat, but Henricksen still couldn't help taunting the Winchester brothers. After so many months chasing them, they were finally in a jail cell in front of him, chained and sitting subdued.

"I think Sammy and I will have a little chat, first of all."

He took enormous pleasure at the flash of true fear that went across Dean's face. "No, keep us together," Dean said. "You don't understand. We have to be together."

"Why, so you can control his every word? I don't think so." Henricksen nodded to the officer standing by, who moved forward to take Sam by the arm.

"Dean, it's fine," Sam said.

"But you said it yourself, Sam, he's tracking us, and if he comes now—"

"—we'll be ready."

Henricksen frowned at the exchange and yanked on Sam's arm, causing him to stumble.

"You son of a—"

Henricksen shut the door behind them, shoving Sam into the interrogation seat. A pity, that bright lights and intimidating posture would be useless on him.

"Sam Winchester. This has, without a doubt, been the most interesting case of my career."

"You're welcome," Sam said drily.

"So. What's a nice college kid like you, doing running around with a guy like Dean?"

"Let's cut the crap." Sam leaned forward, elbows on the interrogation table. "Your case is screwed up. You have a guy that was supposed to be dead, running around and doing crimes that are impossible and make no sense. And you want to use me as the guy to take him down? You're gonna have to try harder than that."

Henricksen scowled. "Alright, smart guy. So you're loyal. What'd your brother do, get you dates? Help you to the bathroom?"

Sam tilted his head. "This is close to harassment, _sir_."

"Pre-law. I forgot." Henricksen leaned back, examining the kid closely. "You left because your girlfriend died."

Sam stiffened. "More or less."

"Did you ever wonder how? Convenient, that according to witnesses, your brother showed up and escorted you around for a while before whisking you away."

"You went to Stanford?"

Henricksen ignored his startled query and rose from his chair, pacing around behind Sam and watching him cringe. "Sam, your brother has been leading you around. He is a murderer—he probably killed Jessica. Will you stay loyal to him? Or will you wake up and realize this farce you've been living?"

Sam laughed, hard and brutal. "You have no idea what you're messing with. Let us go."

Henricksen sighed. "Alright, kid." He grabbed his arm, and lifted him up; Sam stood, and suddenly slammed his foot down on Henricksen's instep, elbowing his stomach. Henricksen grunted as Sam continued his assault, landing several neat punches and always staying in contact, despite his handcuffed hands.

A kick threw Henricksen against the wall, and he landed, dazed, watching Sam exit the room swiftly.

He had not just captured the Winchester brothers to let them get away again. Henricksen called for reinforcements.

By the time he caught up to him, Sam was working on Dean's cell, somehow almost managing to pick the lock, despite his disability.

"Stand down!" he roared. Several of the officers, infuriated at Sam attacking one of their own, grabbed Sam roughly, slamming him against the jail cell.

"Don't hurt him!" Dean snarled.

"Oh, we're not," one of them returned, as he fisted Sam's hair and pulled his neck back. "He's resisting arrest, so we're using necessary force." He kneed Sam in the kidneys, dropping him to the floor.

Henricksen uncomfortably watched as several of them 'accidentally' kicked Sam while he was down, as Dean cursed and yelled from the sidelines. He had chosen his men based on their energy and fanaticism . . . maybe that had been a mistake.

Once Sam was chained up in the jail cell again—this time attached to Dean by the ankle and arm—Henricksen dared to approach. Dean was murmuring something to his brother as he checked him out, gently maneuvering Sam's bruised body.

"You'll be shipping out of here soon," Henricksen said shortly. "I expect they'll separate you."

He should have been gloating, but couldn't quite make it there as he watched Sam whimper and press closer to Dean.

Dean muttered a few nasty curses before glaring up at Henricksen. He had never seen such viciousness before. Henricksen shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "About them. I didn't mean . . . well, I am sorry." He turned and walked from the room, going straight to the monitors.

"Be straight with me, Sammy. Where does it hurt the worst?"

"Side." Sam's voice barely came through. Henricksen watched closely at the fuzzy picture as Dean checked under Sam's shirt.

"Nothing we can do now."

"When do you think he'll come?"

"I dunno, kiddo. I think we're pretty screwed though."

Sam leaned against his brother, and Henricksen gazed at them thoughtfully.

And then his picture cut off. Henricksen knocked on the screen and sighed. "Hey! What kind of show are you guys pulling here?"

His call was not answered, and slowly, Henricksen pulled out his gun. He wouldn't put it past the Winchesters to have help.

An explosion rocked the station. Henricksen was too well trained to swear and make any kind or racket, as much as he wanted to. The holding cell. Henricksen went for it, dodging through the smoke-filled corridors until he reached them.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?"

The man wasn't moving to release the Winchesters. Henricksen waited, listening.

"What do you want from me?" Sam spoke up. Sam was gently keeping Dean from blocking him with his body, instead facing the man himself, eyes blankly looking straight towards where Henricksen was crouched.

"You two may have screwed up my plans, but that doesn't mean I'm not adaptable." The man took a step forward and Dean growled.

"You stay away from him."

"You're already damned, fool. Stay out of this."

The man lifted his hand, and the cell . . . well, it _melted_. Henricksen gaped, noting his gun hand was trembling a little.

"Sam. My son, you will come with me."

The man—Sam and Dean's father?—snapped his fingers, and the brothers flew apart, one to each wall. Dean was ignored, while the guy stalked towards Sam.

"You will be mine," he snarled.

Whatever this freaky stuff was, Henricksen was done with it. He came out shooting, bullets punching straight through the man.

Instead of dropping dead, the man turned, eyes—yellow eyes?—flashing with anger.

"Insolent—"

Henricksen continued firing, even as he heard Dean began chanting something in another language, still pinned up against the wall.

Something was gripping at his insides, a sharp pain that was not ebbing. Henricksen choked, his gun falling to the ground.

As he did so, the thing began to writhe, something like black smoke around its face.

The pain vanished, and Henricksen gasped as the man snarled "this isn't over," before smoke exited his body and flew out of the building.

With that, he passed out.

* * *

"Agent Henricksen?"

He groaned.

"What happened here?"

Sitting up shakily, he looked around. Half-melted holding cell. Two missing brothers, again.

He should have become a dentist like his momma said.

"Honestly? I have no idea."

* * *

**A/N:** Isn't it awesome how much I'm posting recently? *sigh* I wish it could be a consistent thing. In four days I leave for college (yay?) and thus posting will once more slow down again. Enjoy this while it lasts, I suppose.


End file.
